A silent drought within takes form,
In glands where once flowed life so warm.
No gentle tears to soothe the eye,
No salve for thirst, the wells run dry.
The mouth, a desert, cracked and bare,
Yearns for rain that isn’t there.
Eyes that sting, a tearless stream,
Reflect a quiet, aching dream.
Immune cells stray from their true mark,
In realms they turn to shadowed dark.
They seek the self as stranger, foe,
Unseen forces wage their blow.
With weary joints and limbs that tire,
The body flickers, dampened fire.
Yet deep within, it fights to stand,
A barren mouth, a swollen gland.
The skin cries out, the nose runs thin,
As all the moisture pulls within.
A hidden struggle, worn and old,
Of fire fierce, and silence cold.
Through blood’s own trail, the answers sought,
The test, the scope, the biopsy thought.
Yet roots entwine in cryptic ways,
A maze of genes, in shadowed haze.
Still, drops and balms, they soothe the sting,
A quiet hope, a gentle spring.
Each sip, each breath, a mindful keep,
To guard the soul, though waters sleep.
So here we stand, though tears may flee,
With patient strength, resiliently.
In desert’s heart, a strength unfolds,
The will to fight, the courage bold.
